In Time
by jesse conlon
Summary: Four girls; two orphans, a factory worker, and a thief all face sudden and life-altering changes. Will they be able to pull through? Will they get help from the newsboys of New York, or will their pasts get in the way?
1. Changes

In Time  
by: Jesse Conlon  
  
Chapter One  
Changes  
  
"Fire! Fire!"  
  
"Get those buckets over here!"  
  
Screams and the ringing of warning bells filled the night, mixing with the smoke and confusion. Red flames reached into the dark sky, curling around an old building, licking the windows and eating away at the walls. A small crowd of people who yelled, cried, and stared began to gather. Scared, mesmerized children clung to worried, weeping women in their night robes. Their men, sweaty and ash-covered, worked frantically to put out the fire. Children stumbled away from the burning building, some leaned on each other for support while others found refuge in the arms of orphanage workers and brave rescuers. One child, little more than a toddler, was placed in the arms of a bystander by the man who'd pulled her from the burning wreckage. Singed and smeared with soot, she fought hysterically against the one who held her, her baby curls tangled, her face red and tear-streaked.  
  
"Kaitlin!" she shrieked, crying for the only mother she'd ever known. "Kaitlin!" The orphan she longed for didn't emerge from the fire, and as the minutes ticked away, any hope that she would faded in the minds of those nearby. But the little girl didn't understand this, and she screamed until her tiny voice gave way and she cried herself to sleep in the arms of a stranger.  
  
Deep in the core of the inferno, a young girl was crouched on the ground, her night gown pulled up around her knees to allow her more freedom of movement. She crawled across the room, coughing from the smoke and heat. Her body working on instinct, she checked the cot next to hers, and found it empty. As she crawled through the burning rooms, searching for an exit, she found no one. Somewhere in the back of her mind she hoped they had all made it out alive. When the girl finally stumbled out into the cool night air, she staggered blindly across the street and into an alley. There she crumpled to the ground, exhausted, and let sleep overtake her. In the chaos, no one noticed the lone figure who had escaped out a back way. Later she would be counted among the dead. Many already unloved, parentless children were turned out onto the street that night, the fire claiming the only home they'd had.  
  
. . . . .  
  
Sarah held tightly to her elder brother's hand as they wandered through the marketplace. As usual, the streets were crammed with many different types of people, buying, selling, and going about their business. Sean pulled her out of the way as a wagon rumbled past.  
  
"You okay?" he asked. She smiled and nodded, pulling her threadbare shawl around her shoulders. He was 17, tall, with golden brown hair and sparkling blue eyes that reflected her own. In all but those eyes, they were opposites, and people usually didn't recognize them as family. We're the only family we have, she thought.  
  
"Hey, look," he said suddenly. Sarah followed his gaze to a fruit stand, nearly overflowing with ripe fruit. Her stomach growled in counterpart to his and she sighed.  
  
"Sean, we can't..." He sighed also and shook himself out of his wishful thinking.  
  
It had been hard finding food and shelter since the landlady had turned them out a couple months ago. Sarah swallowed hard at the memories that flooded her mind at the thought of that time. Sean slipped his arm around her shoulders.  
  
"Hey, are you sure you're all right?"  
  
"Yes." He studied her face for a moment, trying to read her thoughts. Over the past few weeks he had been growing increasingly worried about her, she was becoming quieter and more listless by the day.  
  
"You want to go to Central Park? I'll pick you some flowers."  
  
She brightened and hugged him. "Can we?" He grinned gallantly and deepened his voice, "But of course, fair lady. In fact, I shall escort you personally."  
  
The two spent the rest of the morning at the park, picking flowers, rolling in the grass, and scaring the ducks. Around noon, they sat underneath a tree, watching the people walk by.  
  
After a while Sean stood, "I'll be right back, Sarah."  
  
She glanced at him curiously, "Where are you going?" He just squeezed her hand and turned away, "I'll be right back."  
  
Sarah watched her brother step out amid the pedestrians, most of whom were well dressed and obviously from a higher class of society. He stood out in his ragged trousers, shirt, and suspenders, all of which needed a wash and mending. She made a mental note to mend both of their clothes as soon as she found the materials. Sean disappeared from sight for a few minutes and the young girl began to slip into her own thoughts. She was jerked back to the present at the sound of someone yelling. She jumped to her feet when she heard a police whistle, and stared blankly at the chaotic crowd that was gathering around the angry voice. Then her wits came back to her and she hurried over to see the commotion. Elbowing her way through the onlookers, she managed a glimpse of what was at their center. The yelling came from a rather fat, over dressed, high society man in a top hat, who was red in the face and screaming something about pick-pockets. She glanced at him, but what caught her attention next made her breath catch in her throat. There was Sean, being manhandled by two policemen. They struggled to arrest the boy and pacify his accuser at the same time. Sean wasn't resisting in any way, but stood with his shoulders drooping and his head bowed. For a moment, Sarah's brain stopped working, and she stared dumbly at the scene. Then the reality of what was happening began to wash over her and she started crying.  
  
"Sean!" His head jerked up and his eyes searched the crowd for his sister. Half hidden behind one of the bystanders, tears were rolling down her cheeks as she tried to push her way into the center. He shook his head, and she stopped. His message was clear: Stay out of it. I do not want you to get in trouble too. Sarah stayed frozen in place, held by his silent orders to stay behind. The fat man was beginning to enjoy his audience now, and he accused Sean of all sorts of ridiculous crimes, grand theft, assault, everything short of murder. One of the policemen was making note of it all with interest. All of this passed by the two children in blur. As the policemen began to lead Sean off, he and his sister locked gazes, and he mouthed, "I love you." Then he was gone, pulled into the crowd.  
  
As they were swept away, Sarah started sobbing and sank down in the grass. She buried her face in her hands, painfully aware of what had just happened. For weeks Sean had been slipping away by himself to come back a few minutes later with money or food. She had never questioned where he'd gotten them, she didn't want to know. Besides, she trusted her brother, and knew he would do anything to protect her. Now he was gone. Sarah wasn't stupid, she and Sean both knew enough about life in the lower class to know that he was in serious trouble, whether he did what he was accused of or not. It was almost certain that he would not be given a fair trial. A trial. New tears appeared at this thought. It was not unusual for children to go to court, with no support from the city or the law, and be put away in some prison somewhere, even for minor or alleged crimes. 'Cleaning up the streets,' they said. There was one less child on the streets that night, but in return, the city gained two broken hearts and a girl, sleeping alone in a park. For the first time in her life her brother wasn't there to put his arms around her when she got scared. And she was terrified.  
  
. . . . .  
  
Clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety- clickety... Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump...  
  
Huge machinery whirred and clanged, controlled only by small, worn looking masters. Row upon row of girls of all ages sat, tending their looms, keeping them working properly and trying not to think about what would happen if they made a mistake. There was a nervous aura hanging in the stale, too loud air today. Rumors had been flying for the past week. Something about an inspector. Someone mentioned child labor laws. The workers worried, they needed these jobs to survive, and many to support their families. They knew that it would be easier for the 'boss' to simply let some of them go rather than raise wages or...what had the newspaper said? "Improve working conditions." Their fears had been confirmed over the last hour as several of them were called out because 'the boss wanted to speak with them', and they did not return.  
  
Kayli sat between her looms, she was strong for her size, so she had two. Hands moving quickly and confidently, she kept all the pieces moving correctly. She wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around her, and she jumped when one of the supervisors showed up at her side. He raised his voice above the noise, "You're wanted in the office, young lady. Give your looms to someone else for now." Kayli felt herself growing nervous, but obediently did as he asked.  
  
"Lila!" she called to the girl next to her.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Could you take over for me for now? I'll explain later."  
  
"Sure."  
  
But as it turned out, Kayli didn't have a chance to explain. Lila worked three looms by herself for the rest of the day, wondering what had happened to her friend. She found a note on her bed at the boarding house that night.  
  
Lila,  
I am sorry I can't tell you this in person, but they wanted me out of here fast. The boss said they were downsizing, whatever that means. Guess I just wanted to say thanks for being such a great friend. I'll miss you.  
Love always, Kayli  
  
. . . . .  
  
The streets of Manhattan were bustling with the usual morning activity. Vendors, factory workers, parents, and newsboys hurried along, going about their various tasks. In the midst of the crowd, amid many more like it, there was a fruit stand. All sorts of wonderfully ripe fruits and vegetables were stacked high. The merchant was too busy selling his wares and keeping an eye on his merchandise to notice a small, dirty figure making its way towards him.  
  
Clad in a tan, striped shirt, brown trousers, and a scruffy old hat, the figure blended perfectly with nearly every other street rat in the city, and appeared to be perfectly at home in his environment. At first glance, there was nothing extraordinary about him, until you noticed his smooth, confident, almost cat-like way of moving. Until you saw how he slipped past the fruit stand with out ever coming in contact with it, yet as he walked off, he stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a beautiful red apple. Until you got a little closer and saw that the dirt, hat and clothes hid a surprisingly pretty face and slender figure that was just beginning to bloom. The child had high, arched eyebrows set over sparkling blue-green eyes and feminine features that were gently dusted with freckles. If you got even closer, you would see the delicate strawberry blonde curls that peeked from beneath her cap, and you would hear her chuckle to herself as she took a bite out of the apple.  
  
"Piece of cake," she said, and "accidentally" bumped into a well dressed business man. "Sorry, sir," she mumbled humbly, before walking off with a brand new pocket watch. 


	2. Chances

Chapter Two  
Chances  
  
Sarah shivered, more from sadness than cold, though. It had been hard surviving the past few days since Sean...left. She'd spent the first few nights in the park, then began to wander, knowing that if she was going to survive, she was going to have to do something, even though she was not yet sure what.  
  
Pausing to see where her feet had taken her, she noticed the huge beams that rose to meet the sky on either side of her. Looking over the edge of the walkway on her right, she could see the swirling waters of the East Hudson. The Brooklyn Bridge. Sarah shivered again. Brooklyn was not somewhere that she would normally want to be, but she was tired and desperate. Hoping to find a job or a generous soul, she continued on across the bridge.  
  
. . . . .  
  
"T'ank you, ma'm," the tall, curly haired boy grinned and pocketed the nickel the woman had offered him. She in turn took from his outstretched hand the day's edition of the World Newspaper. He smiled again as she and her husband walked away. "Second taday," he elated under his breath. The price of the papers was a penny, but occasionally a generous customer would give a little more.  
  
The boy called out another headline, then glanced over his left shoulder. *She's still dere,* he thought as he shook his head. A few feet away stood a young girl, brown eyes staring pointedly at the loaves of bread, rolls, and other treats inside the bakery window. She'd been standing there for several minutes, seemingly unaware of the chaos of activity all around her. She wore a simple brown skirt and a faded blue shirt. Both were neat but worn and beginning to show the dust of the streets. There was a slightly bewildered but calm look about her, like someone who was on the streets for the first time in a long while but was beginning to remember the way things work. Her thick, straight hair fell in a shiny cascade of wheat gold that ended just below her shoulders and complimented her smooth tan skin. Clutched in one hand she held a pillow case, which was apparently serving as a bag to hold her things. The boy watched her for another moment, then stuck the crutch he held under his right arm, readjusted his grip on the stack of papers under his left, and hobbled over to her.  
  
"Hey, miss?" She jumped and turned to face him. He smiled, "I'se just been noticin' you starin' in da window, an' I don't think I've seen you around much. Da name's Crutchy." He stuck out his right hand and she shook it.  
  
"My name's Kayli," she smiled for the first time. "It's nice to meet you."  
  
"Likewise. I'se just about ta get me sometin' ta eat, are ya hungry?" Before she could reply, he stepped through the doorway and limped to the counter.  
  
"Can I 'ave two a dose rolls in da window?" he asked, after laying down a nickel. The shopkeeper accepted the money and handed him two rolls, warm from the oven.  
  
"T'anks." The boy stepped back out into the sunshine and held one of the rolls out to Kayli. She faltered, "No, I..."  
  
"Aw, come on. Ya obviously haven't eaten in a while, an' I've had a good sellin' day."  
  
She finally smiled gratefully and accepted it, "Thanks." The girl glanced up at him, "I don't have any money to pay you back."  
  
"Dat's all right." Crutchy took a bite out of his roll and savored the fresh bread, he was also living off the streets, and good food was always a treat. They walked in contented silence to a city bench and sat down. "So," Crutchy swallowed the food and continued, "Where're ya from?"  
  
Kayli finished her mouthful before responding. "The Bronx. I worked in a cloth factory there," she took another bite, "but I was fired." Crutchy looked at her sympathetically. She swallowed. "How about you?"  
  
Crutchy grinned, an action that lit up his whole face. "I'se a newsie."  
  
"That explains the newspapers."  
  
"Yep." They ate their rolls in silence for a few moments. Then an idea occured to Crutchy. "So ya don't 'ave a job?" Kayli shook her head.  
  
"What would ya think of bein' a newsie?"  
  
She looked at him in surprise, "Girls can be newsies?"  
  
"I don't know. I nevah met one. But probably. Hey! I'll take ya ta see Jack! He'll know. Jack knows everything."  
  
"Who's Jack?"  
  
"Oh, he's da leadah. You'll see. Tell ya what, why don't ya come wit me to sell da rest a me papes, den tanight ya can come ta Tibby's. Dat's where we usually 'ave dinner. I'll interduce ya ta Jack. Den ya can make up yer mind. How's dat?"  
  
Kayli smiled and her clear brown eyes shone. "That would be great."  
  
. . . . .  
  
"Well would you look at that."  
  
Leaning against a rough brick wall as he adjusted his sling-shot, Spot glanced up to see what Fists was talking about. Making her way down the street was a remarkably delicate looking girl. Her clothes were dirty, torn, and wearing thin in places. She had long, fine, white blonde hair that hung in a braid down her back, with a few strands, blown free by the wind, framing her face. Her skin and features reminded him of a porcelain doll that he had seen once in a store window.  
  
It was late in the evening, most of the Brooklyn newsies had finished selling their newspapers, and as the weather was a bit cooler than normal, none of them really felt like swimming at the harbor. The rather large group of bored, ragamuffin boys hung around their "boarding house," an abandoned warehouse, playing cards, starting half-hearted fights, and practicing their aim with their slingshots. Their leader watched as a few of his boys sidled up to this interesting new girl. Among them was a tall, red headed boy who he recognized as Slick. A warning signal went off in the leader's head, Slick's reputation for behaving like a gentleman was less than perfect. Spot turned his attention back to the girl, and his normally indifferent heart went out to her, and he felt out-of-character pity for her. The newsies were getting in her way, refusing to let her pass, and knowing Slick, were probably making some not-very-nice comments. Her petite form was nearly lost amidst the older, muscular boys who now towered over her, and the look on her face registered fear. *All right, enough a dis,* the sixteen year old thought. Slipping his slingshot into his pocket, he drew his cane and sauntered over to them.  
  
"All right, break it up." At the sound of their leader's voice, most of the boys stepped back immediately, but Slick wasn't paying attention, or perhaps he didn't care. In either case, Spot Conlon didn't take kindly to being disobeyed.  
  
"Slick!" Spot grabbed the boy's shoulders and spun him around, thrusting his cane into his face. "I said, break it up."  
  
As scared as she was, Sarah watched the confrontation with interest. This new boy was surprisingly small and slender. He was at least a full head shorter than the broad shouldered, bulky boy he was ordering around. She expected him to get beaten. To her surprise, instead of attacking, the boy called 'Slick' just backed down with a mumbled, "Coise, Spot."  
  
Spot fixed Slick with a glare, then glanced around to include the rest of the boys. "Get to work, all a ya." With that, the newsies scattered, grateful to get away from their leaders's aggravated mood. The few who still had papers to sell went back to work, and those who didn't quickly found something useful to do. Spot turned to the small blonde girl and his face softened.  
  
"Are youse okay, miss?" Sarah nodded, and her terror faded. She found herself somewhat in awe and a little fearful of this powerful boy. He had dirty blonde hair under his cap, handsome, delicate features, and ice-blue eyes that seemed to grow lighter as he looked at her.  
  
He smiled, "Sorry about dat. Dey don't mean no harm, dey just don't know how to treat a lady. My name's Spot Conlon."  
  
Sarah smiled back, and Spot started at how blue her eyes were. Not icy or dark like his own, but sparkling and bright. They reminded him of fairy dust.  
  
"I'm Sarah."  
  
"Pleased ta meet you," he paused for a moment, sizing her up. There was something about her that struck him as decidedly lost and...hurting? You could tell just by looking at her that she was poor and probably hungry. Spot suddenly found himself wanting to know more about this new girl who would wander into Brooklyn alone, and before he could catch himself he asked,  
  
"Umm, would you maybe...like ta eat lunch with me?"  
  
. . . . .  
  
"Alrighty, who's next?" the figure in the alley way muttered under her breath as she surveyed the street before her. Blue-green eyes singled people out of the crowd, sizing them up for potential profit. On the opposite side of the street, another figure caught her attention. It was a young girl who looked to be about her own age, but was several inches shorter. This girl had dark blond hair that was pulled up in a makeshift bun. She wore a plain, pattern-less skirt and button down blouse that were both a size too small, and made her way through the crowd slowly, as if in unfamiliar territory.  
  
*No, not her,* it was her personal rule that she didn't steal from people who could not afford it, she knew too well the cruelty of the streets and the pain of prolonged hunger. Besides, there was much more of value to be found in the higher class. Her gaze moved on, switching from person to person until it finally rested on a woman whose fancy hat and lacy gloves spoke of money to spare. She clutched a satin purse while examining the contents of a store window.  
  
The figure in the alley raised one elegant eyebrow, and hid a cunning smile that caused a set of dimples to appear on her cheeks. *Perfect.* Pulling her cap down lower to hide her face, she slipped out of the alley and vanished into the stream of people. The woman never felt the ghost- like hands that reached into her purse when the dirty little street urchin brushed past her. Like the wealthy socialite that she was bred to be, she brushed her dress as if to rid herself of the child's contamination and continued on her way with a handful fewer coins than she had had before.  
  
. . . . .  
  
Kaitlin stopped and sighed with her hands on her hips. She had woken up in the alley the morning after the fire to see the charred remains of the orphanage, her home of several years. After that she'd headed for the nearby church. Still wearing her nightgown, there wasn't much she could do until she had some clothes. The nuns there had given her plain but practical clothes, a meal, and a sermon. She'd been thankful for the first two, and simply listened politely to the third. She knew God, He'd taken care of her for years, but she didn't care for the lengthy lectures that the nuns were prone to. So as soon as she'd dressed and eaten, she'd thanked them and left. Maybe it was her pride, but she didn't want charity unless she was desperate, and after years under the supervision of the women at the orphanage, she was ready to try her own hand at life.  
  
However, so far life wasn't cooperating. For a few days she'd been simply surviving meal to meal, and they were often farther apart than she would have liked. She'd swept restaurant floors for food, avoided the police on instinct, and spent her nights on benches or under trees in the city parks. At this point, she felt like telling someone off, but fortunately for her, if not for her temper, no easy targets presented themselves.  
  
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The rest of her thick blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun, the result of a night spent on the streets. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten breakfast and it was already past noon. Today she was at her wit's end as to what to do, so she'd just been wandering, trying to gain some familiarity with the area.  
  
With a sigh, she started walking again.  
  
"Excuse me, miss." She glared at the short, dark haired boy who'd bumped into her. His pink shirt and smirk bore testimony to an over- confident attitude and his voice dripped with oily charm. *I don't think I like him very much,* she thought to herself. He tipped his hat, and stepped to the side with a sly smile. She ignored him and picked up her pace a little.  
  
"Heya, sweet face." She started at the voice and the sudden presence of a tall boy blocking her path. Dark hair and a mustache were the only features she had a chance to notice before she felt someone grabbing her elbow and guiding her to the side. Turning, she saw the boy who'd bumped her, that same smile evilly accenting his features. *Okay, I most definitely do not like these guys.* She glared at them both and opened her mouth to protest. The taller one instantly clapped his hand over her mouth.  
  
"Oh I wouldn't suggest you do that, sweet cakes. If you know what's good for ya, you'll stay nice and quiet," the short one admonished her.  
  
Maybe it was his condescending tone, as if she were someone to be talked down to, maybe it was her irritable mood brought on by hunger, or maybe it was the clichèd threat, but she wasn't about to stay nice and quiet. The tall one yelped and yanked his hand back as her teeth dug deep into his grimy fingers.  
  
"She bit me!" he sputtered. As soon as her mouth was free, Kaitlin screamed as loudly she could. Shorty tried to cover her mouth but she snapped her teeth at him. He hesitated for a second and she used that time to rake her fingernails across his arm, leaving a trail of bright red welts.  
  
"Morris!" The tall one shot his hands out and caught her wrists, twisting them slightly so that she couldn't move.  
  
"Oh, that was not a good idea," Shorty growled.  
  
"Dear me, what 'ave we 'ere?" A cheerful, mocking voice came from the entrance of the alleyway. Kaitlin tried to twist and see who was there, but the tall boy had too good a grip on her. Both of her attackers looked over nervously, then their expressions darkened as they recognized the intruders.  
  
A new voice joined in, "Heya, Morris, Oscar. Is dere a problem?"  
  
The short one spoke threateningly. "Get out a 'ere, Kid. Dis isn't none a yer business."  
  
She heard the shuffling of footsteps and knew whoever was there was coming closer. The tall one turned slightly to face them and cleared her line of vision. Two boys, a tall, dirty-blonde one with an eyepatch, and a short Italian with curly black hair and a cigar stood in front of them.  
  
The Italian continued, "Mistreatin' a lady, Oscar? As gentlemen, it is our business. Besides," he paused and grinned. "We nevah got to finish dis mornin'."  
  
Suddenly, everything went crazy. Morris, the tall attacker, let go and shoved her back, she tripped and fell against the wall. The blonde charged, head down, and hit Oscar in the stomach. The boy with the cigar ducked punches thrown by Morris and managed to throw a couple of his own. Morris tripped and sprawled into his companion, giving the other two a chance to get in some good hits. The shrill squealing of a police whistle interrupted the scuffle and Oscar and Morris ran out of the alley, calling threats over their shoulders.  
  
"Dis isn't over, ya..."  
  
"Aw, shaddup, scabbas!" The one with the cigar cut them off.  
  
Kaitlin watched in silence as her rescuers stood, laughing and thumping each other on the back.  
  
"Whoa ho! Dat was great!"  
  
"Didja see da look on deir faces when we showed up?"  
  
"Yeah! Wait till Cowboy hears about dis!"  
  
"Hey..." The blonde stepped over to Kaitlin and helped her to her feet.  
  
"Are youse all right, Miss?" he asked.  
  
She smiled, "I'm all right. Thanks. Um, who are you?"  
  
"Kid Blink," he smiled and gestured to his friend, "And dis here's Racetrack. Dose two scabbas were Oscar and Morris Delancy, dey're a couple a creeps."  
  
"Yeah no kiddin'," added Racetrack. "Did dey hurt ya?" he asked.  
  
"No," Kaitlin brushed off her skirt and straightened her blouse. She held out her hand, "My name's Kaitlin." Racetrack took her hand and kissed it.  
  
"Pleased ta meet ya," he paused thoughtfully, "Uh, can we help ya at all? Is dere anywhere you need to go?"  
  
The young girl sighed, "Thanks, but no. I'm not real sure where I'm going."  
  
Kid Blink frowned, "Whadda ya mean?"  
  
"Well, see...," she trailed off, unsure whether or not she should tell her story to strangers.  
  
"Never mind, I'll be fine, thank you. Goodbye." She stepped past them and started out of the alley.  
  
"Wait." She turned.  
  
"You don't got anywhere to go, do ya?"  
  
. . . . .  
  
Spot led Sarah to a nearby restaurant. He knew the owner, and much like Tibby's of Manhattan, this place treated newsies and their kind well.  
  
"Here," Spot pulled out a chair for her at a table in the corner. "Have a seat."  
  
"Thanks," Sarah sat and watched as he walked around to sit across from her.  
  
"What would ya like ta eat?" he asked. Then, before she could protest, he added, "I owe ya fer what me boys did."  
  
She glanced at him gratefully, he had given her a good excuse to accept his generosity without feeling embarrassed.  
  
"Thank you." She decided on what she wanted to eat, and he ordered for them both. After that, a silence settled over the table. When they got their food, Spot sat back and quietly observed this new girl. Sarah kept her head down, obviously very nervous. H e was sure she hadn't eaten for days, but must have been trying not to show it, because she was eating very little.  
  
"It's okay ta eat, ya know," she glanced up at him and he gestured toward her plate of food. "I knows yer hungry, go ahead an' eat." She stared at him for a moment, then slowly began to eat. Before long, she had finished off her plate, and he gently shoved his untouched food over to her as well.  
  
"I'm not hungry," he replied to her questioning look. Once she had finished, Spot pushed the empty dishes to the side and spoke.  
  
"Now," Sarah looked up at him, "What're youse doin' in Brooklyn all alone, if ya don't mind my askin?"  
  
The young girl considered the situation for a moment. Who was this boy? Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies, but so what? Aside from his reputation, she didn't know him or what he was like at all. True, he had bought her lunch, and she hadn't eaten for days. He was the only person in a long time, besides Sean, to be nice to her. But could she trust him? She looked up to meet his gaze, and found herself staring into his icy blue eyes. So unlike Sean's and her own, yet utterly incredible. She took a deep breath. *I don't have anything to lose...*  
  
"My name's Sarah. We...I've been living on the streets ever since my parents died." She felt the tears in her eyes, they surprised her since she thought she had cried them all before. Blinking to get rid of them, she continued.  
  
"I guess...I'm looking for a job. I don't know how I ended up here."  
  
Spot stared at her in silence. His face held its usual calm expression, but inside he was fascinated. There was more to this ragged girl than she was letting on.  
  
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Tell ya what. I can get you a job an' a place ta stay, at least until you can find sometin' bettah. But youse gonna have ta work, and youse gonna hafta trust me. Deal?" Sarah stared at him for a long moment. *Trust you?*  
  
"Deal." 


End file.
